


The Universal

by alchimie



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Pre-Killjoys AU, killjoys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:23:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7501065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchimie/pseuds/alchimie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Red Men were the architects. They were in charge of not only designing the structures within the City but developing a beautiful environment that would keep the people happy and hopeful for the future. This task proved to influence the Red Men in dangerous ways.</p><p>Agent 3 has been assigned to exterminate one of the Red Men--an idealist by the name of Gerard Way. Something is dangerously different about this assignment, however.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Universal

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the men described in this story, nor do I own the concepts borrowed from The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys. Some elements of the story were also inspired by the music video for "The Universal" by Blur. 
> 
> This is an AU set to predate the creation of the killjoys. As of now, I'm planning on possibly making it a short series and introducing other characters into it. 
> 
> Minor discussions of death in the story, though nothing graphic enough to warrant any warning. Enjoy!

The atmosphere of the party, like everything in the City, was consistent. 

Each month the Company would host the same exact celebration, giving vague reasons such as another “successful quarter” or a “great bought of progress”, nothing specific enough to pin down. They would call for a grand event that invited all of the employees, which consisted of at least half the adult population of the City. Exorbitant amounts of money would be put into refreshments and entertainment (not that these plebeians would need any, with how most of the refreshments were alcoholic). Committees consisting of high ranking members of each company faction would come together to plan out the festivities weeks in advance, holding open votes on how to decorate using the same exact color scheme, what Council-approved music choices would be added into the playlist, and what desserts would be most fit for the time of year. All of the City would be abuzz with discussion of the celebration.

Being part of the Inside, Agent 3 knew the Company used it as a means of boosting morale and keeping spirits high. The people needed to always be happy, be proud, and be contented with exactly what they were doing. Unending success meant unending cooperation. The Agent did not see, however, what exactly was so necessary about all the engineers and suits dressing scantily in the most over-the-top fashions with colorful, fruit-flavored liquor spilling on to their white clothing while they danced—or more accurately, flailed—around the wide ballroom. With all that color staining them, they might as well be sewer rats out in the zones surrounding the City. You’d think that the Company could create some more order in these settings with how much order was in everywhere else.

White banners and streamers with black print hung from every panel in the ceiling. They were all as nondescript as the theme of the gathering, causing him to believe that they were simply recycled for each festival. The Agent wouldn’t know, however, for he never attended these events unless it were deemed necessary for his current task. He felt like an outsider wandering through, despite the fact that he worked for the same people and strived for the same goals ultimately. The Agent was not and would never be on the level of these people, though. He was a different breed, a better breed. 

Scratching a sore spot on his neck, he glared around the room with obvious contempt. None of these happy faces noticed or cared.

As he traversed the intoxicated crowd, he felt drops of the bright liquid spill onto his white blouse as one of the young women from accounting stumbled onto him, gigging. He shoved her off of him, earning dirty looks from the rest of her pencil-pushing cronies clustered around her. It was the first actual look of dissatisfaction he’d seen in the whole room. That did not matter to him. The only thing that mattered to him was that now, along with completing his mission, he would have that awful artificial strawberry and vodka smell clinging to him for the rest of the night. More red to wash off his dress shirt in the morning. 

Red. 

He had to search for the Red Man in the middle of all this mess. It shouldn’t be hard with all the other bodies being clad in ivory garments, but the Agent was not tall enough to see through the sea of bodies that flooded the entire room. 

In the beginning, there had been four groups of engineers that united to create the City as a structured home for all the survivors of the Final Wars. The lot had been a large area in what used to once be one of the most beautiful and populous areas in the country all their ancestors lived in. Underneath was the largest and only successful bomb shelter where their grandparents and great-grandparents managed to survive while the rest of the population of the Old World annihilated themselves. The previous generations had been far cleverer than the rest of the world, equipping themselves with decades’ worth of food and supplies that would contribute to the beginnings of the City. All of that was the story that the Council told the people, at least, and the Agent knew better than to question anything that the Council said.

The four groups each named themselves after four basic colors, and each of the factions contributed to the new society in a unique manner. There had been the Green Men, dedicate to genetically modifying the little plant life left in the wild to feed millions of people as well as introduce diverse horticulture into the new world. They created a synthetic environment within and around the City that could protect it from the high levels of radiation all around and keep it self-sufficient with renewable resources. The Blue Men dedicated themselves to creating sustainable wells and plumbing with the construction of a unique filtration system. They discovered safe means of transporting water into and out of the City to ensure their people would never go without it again. The Yellow Men found their purpose in producing energy vital to creating and maintaining a gathering of this size. By harnessing the power of the blazing light from the sun, they coated all the buildings in solar panels which they could depend on for years to come. If there was one thing they always had in abundance, it was sunlight and heat.

The Red Men were the architects. They were in charge of not only designing the structures within the City but developing a beautiful environment that would keep the people happy and hopeful for the future. This task proved to influence the Red Men in dangerous ways.

All these critical groups dissolved once they completed their technology and designs, handing off the maintenance and renovations to the next generation of engineers. All of them gave up their creativity and pledged to become ordinary citizens under the ruling of the first Council for the good of the City. All of them abandoned their individuality, committing to taking their medications which would flush those traits out of them and leave them as level-headed bystanders. All of them, except the Red Men. 

The Red Men insisted that their work needed to continue, enough so that they enlisted more in their ranks when they were too old to work anymore. The Red Men sold the idea that they intended to expand the City and its beauty when in fact they used their powers of creativity to push for supposed “freedoms” of the people—as if they hadn’t learned long ago what freedom did to people. The Red Men were the first to challenge each regulatory law that the Council implemented, such as the strict dress codes (which they hardly had managed to be exempt themselves from), the ritualistic burning of all unapproved literature, the outlawing of any man-made “arts” (including music, which was now solely created by machines using melodic algorithms within the most objectively pleasing keys), and the requirements for the average citizen to take the government-sanctioned medications. Most of all these, the Red Men skimped out on taking their medications and pushed for the reintroduction of art in the City, claiming that it would be the best way to “lift the spirits” of the citizens. The Red Men had gone from being innovators to social pariahs.

As generations passed through this rebellious group, the Red Men drifted more and more into challenging the system than actually creating new buildings and structures for the City. A new Head had been elected to lead the Council, and they had determined that they would no longer negotiate with the Red Men. Rebels did not belong within the walls of the City. They had scared the few rats that didn’t want to cooperate out into the zones, but the Red Men did not deserve that privilege. With all the grief they caused the Council, they had to be dissolved completely. Since attempts in the past had failed, they would now result to bloodier methods, which was where the Agent came in.

Agent 3 was a member of an elite task force. Before the new Head was elected, the Agency was a secret weapon used by the police force to catch and exterminate criminals. It never received approval from the government due to the illegal nature of capital punishment according to the law, but with the way they kept the City in line, the Council never condemned them, either. They were the Company’s dirty little secret, never to be discussed in public nor acknowledged in any documentation. They were a myth in the City—a legend to tell your kids so that they would take their medications and stay in line. Elders warned the teenagers that considered joining the rebellion about the bloodthirsty group, consisting of people that were mutated to be incredibly fast and incredibly strong, people that were part machine. The mutation and machine bit wasn’t true in Agent 3’s case, though others differed.

Since the latest election, however, the Head had discovered their potential and decided to promote them to a position working directly for the Council. This promotion came with a steep pay raise and a lowering of their medication dosage for optimal alertness. Tonight was the Agent’s first official task assigned by his new leader. 

The Agent assessed the crowd, noticing that without a drink in his hand, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Along with finding his target, he had to be sure he blended in with the party-goers so no one would be suspicious. Abandoning his pursuit momentarily, he located the open bar at the northern wall of the ballroom, young men and women standing behind the counter in black vests filling up more exotically-shaped glasses with chromatic liquors. The Agent eyed a portion of glasses that were filled with black liquids. 

“What is this supposed to be?” he asked the nearest worker behind the bar, a young girl hardly old enough to even drink whatever it was. The black was definitely an oddity for food or drink in the City. All the food was made to be as vibrant as possible, so that it remained appealing despite how artificial it all was. Cuisine was the only thing allowed to be colorful in a black and white world. 

“It’s a special surprise drink. They dyed it to hide its actual color and its identity.”

That was enough to sell it to the man as he reached to grab one of the glasses. Anything that wouldn’t get flashy stains on his shirt if he spills it. 

He had no intention of ruining the mystery of the black drink’s identity, using the glass only as a prop as he took a seat at one of the cushioned bar stools, observing the dance floor for a spot of red in the sea of white. Then he caught a glimpse of it in his peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re looking for someone,” said the man to his right. 

Even before the Agent looked him over, he knew it was him from the brief glimpse of red. The Red Man wore a full scarlet suit with ruby shoes, crimson rings upon his fingers, and a mess of cherry hair on his head. The Agent had never seen a Red Man this close up, so he was a little shocked to discover the rumors that they had red eyes to be false. The eyes staring over at him now were almost the same shade as his own hazel orbs, maybe a shade or two darker with a pointier nose in between them. His skin looked almost white next to the vivid display of color that he wore. 

“I think I lost them, but it’s fine.” The Agent managed up a smile, putting on the façade of another drunk employee. “What about you? Anyone else wearing the same wardrobe accompanying you tonight?”

The Red Man laughed before taking a sip of his red drink. “No, sir. My crowd usually doesn’t enjoy these types of things, but I’m a sucker for any reason to dance without persecution,” he said before extending his free hand. “My name’s Gerard.”

The Agent took his hand. Earning his trust would only make it easier. “I’m Frank.” It was strange using that name. He hadn’t responded to it in years, but he figured it would be easier than coming up with a bogus name that he might forget during the mission. If things went smoothly, this wouldn’t take long, but if this took longer, he needed to be prepared. Working for the police force, his assignments had been a lot easier than this and his targets a lot less prominent (and flashy) than this.

“That’s a nice name. Frank. Very pre-War. Names like that roll of the tongue nicely with just the one syllable.” The Red Man—Gerard—nudged him a little in the arm. “I guess you can tell pretty easily what I do.” He indicated down towards his flamboyant ensemble. “What about you? Are you a typical suit or got yourself a good engineer gig?”

“I work in medical unit up on the thirteenth floor.”

The Agent could see that this didn’t sit too well with Gerard, but the other man still kept smiling and took another long sip from his drink, eyeing over the Agent’s face and down to his neck for a second. “Well, since I’m running solo and you’ve been abandoned, why don’t we team up and hit the dance floor together? No reason for both of us to be alone tonight—it’s a party, after all.”

The last thing that the Agent wanted to do at this point was go back into that disgusting swarm of sweaty, drunken bodies, but it seemed if he was going to keep the company of the Red Man, it would be necessary. “Okay, one second.” He took a sip from his glass of black liquid before setting it back down on the counter. He hadn’t been planning on drinking anything at all tonight, but if he was going to have to dance with this scum, he needed at least one gulp. Not that he would get even buzzed from it, but he could pretend that he did.

His face scrunched up. The mystery flavor was a strange mix of pure sour flavor and sweet cherry, and it lingered on his tongue.

Gerard left his glass on the counter as well, hopping off the bar stool with ease. Maybe he hadn’t been drinking too much, either, much to the Agent’s disappointment. A drunkard would be easier to fool, but that just meant he would have to be smarter than the Red Man. 

The taller man guided the Agent out to the dance floor, finding a less crowded area towards the wall. The undercover man didn’t mind being away from the rest of those imbecile suits, even if it meant he was stuck primarily with this scum. Besides, he had a pleasant enough demeanor, thought the Agent while he scratched the sore spot on his neck.

Gerard didn’t need any cue to start whirling his body about like a fool, hips and feet moving along to the automated beat pumping through the dozens of speakers in the room. Even his way of dancing caused him to stand out from the crowd, the way he put far more into it than seemed necessary or enjoyable. Did everything with this man have to be some sort of protest to the natural order? The Agent swayed back and forth, slightly uncomfortable next to the commotion that the Red Man caused. Everything about him reeked of not taking his required medication. The man in white scratched his neck again.

“You look uncomfortable,” Gerard observed with an amused look after the first song. “Is it my dancing?”

“You dance very . . . uniquely,” the Agent replied, trying to make it sound as if it were not an insult.

“And you dance like your legs are made out of stone. Lighten up a little, sunshine.”

This man spoke so peculiarly with his metaphors and pet names. It almost intrigued the mercenary. Deciding to relent and play the part more, he began to move back and forth in earnest, not getting to the same level as Gerard but at least trying to copy the dancing style of the other workers around him. When was the last time that he’d danced? Probably when he was a child and the action was still permissible outside of these events. Even then, he recalled a teacher catching him and a certain friend dancing around during their free time once. She’d scolded them for almost ten minutes because that was not something meant for school time. 

There was a strange, fleeting high that came from the action. For a couple minutes, the Agent allowed himself to enjoy the dancing and the music, to just let go and feel light for the first time since he’d joined the Agency ripe out of secondary school. This illusion passed, however, once he reminded himself that he was not another party rat enjoying its fake freedom. He had a job to do tonight, and this was only a sham to get an opportunity to get close to his target. 

The Agent needed to remain focused, take in any information that he could about the marked man. Maybe encouraging him to keep up the dance would be beneficial. Surely moving around in such a bizarre fashion must tire the other out over the course of several songs. Examining the Red Man even further after almost a half hour of dancing, he noticed how the scarlet figure tended to favor the right leg, often putting more weight on it than the left. Perhaps that side was weaker, less stable than the right. A rectangular bulge stuck out around his right hip as well, most likely a transmitter. That would have to be destroyed. Even in the dimmed light of the dancefloor, the Agent caught sight of three scratch marks on the back of Gerard’s left hand, as well as a scar right behind his ear. These wounds were far from typical for a pampered citizen in the City. He would have to be even more careful about his job—there was a possibility that the Red Man knew how to put up a fight. 

It was easy, though, getting caught up in more than just the physical traits while observing Gerard. He gave off this undeniably interesting energy, his bright grin shining out past his thin, pale lips. Despite his features being peculiar from his fire hair to the pointed nose, there was surely something deeper that was attractive about the man.

The Agent cringed internally at that thought. That was not a thought to be had at all, at any point. Perhaps lowering his dosage had too many unwanted side effects because that part of his brain had been quiet for years.

They continued for maybe two more songs before the Agent grew tired of trying to keep up with the Red Man’s strange dancing. Gerard appeared tired out already, as well, though he didn’t relent until the Agent spoke up.

“It’s getting warm in here,” he shouted over the loud music. “Do you want to step outside to catch our breath?”

Gerard gave his now signature smile, upturned more so to one corner than the other. “That sounds good. Here, I know a good spot to get away from the crowds.”

“That sounds perfect.” And it did; getting Gerard as isolated as possible would be necessary to complete the mission. 

Gerard took him by the hand, stirring up that unwanted portion of his brain with how soft his long fingers felt on his calloused palm. He worried the simple contact might give him away as the Red Man pulled him forward, since calloused hands were not typical of any suit. Callouses were a mark of physical laborers, zone rats, and people of his field. The Red Man said nothing, however, as he guided the Agent out towards a lesser known area, taking a few turns down a couple less familiar corridors until he got to an exit. The Red Man seemed to know an awful lot about the layout of the Company building, which made sense with his people’s background in architecture. However, it was still unnerving that his target might have a more extensive knowledge in this arena than him, despite his thorough training in mapping out the City. The Red Man was older by probably a couple years and had more experience in this field. The Agent had to be sure to corner him when the time came, not let Gerard lead him on any goose chases through back alleys and hidden passages. 

Once they were outside, the Agent thought that they hit their destination, but Gerard persisted onward. “This spot is a little further off, but I swear you’ll love it. It’s beautiful at night.” The smaller man grew suspicious of this “spot”, wondering if the Red Man had discovered his act and was leading him toward some sort of rebel trap. With his free hand, he hovered over the hidden weapon in his pocket. No one would get the better of him tonight, not even this charming man.

Gerard lead them two blocks east, towards the nearest fence—the edge of the City. Just outside the fence were a few acres dedicated to agriculture, but past that was no man’s land. 

“Where are you taking me?” the Agent demanded, losing some of his patience and willingness to keep up his act. 

“Have you ever been in the Gardens before?”

He had.

The Agent recalled his first kill on the job. An unarmed fugitive escaped from the Containment Sector, heading towards the east gates to attempt to flee. She’d once worked in the Gardens before committing her crime, so she knew of a means of access that she wouldn’t need a code for—a hidden break in the fence that had gone unnoticed. In the pale moonlight, he had followed her through it, finally catching up to her in the Gardens. Had she not tripped over an unseen tree root, she might have made it out to the zones where some desert rats could have assisted her in finding cover from her assailant. Because of her blunder, she died crawling towards the rose bush, a gunshot to the back of the head. Dragging her body in the dark of the sleeping City, he’d been thankful for the strict curfew in town. A month later, her family received noticed that she had died in Containment due to illness. The letter had been signed by a phony police operative—Frank Anthony Iero. 

“No,” he lied. 

Gerard smiled. “Well, tonight we’re going to change that. Follow me.” The Red Man took him through that same breach in the fence. The Agent feigned a look of surprise at its existence. “You medicine suits don’t get out much, do you?”

“It’s not a part of our protocol. All of our work is done indoors. Transport handles any of the leg work most days.” The Agent recited his internal script, having used this alias before. He’d used it so many times that he’d hacked the system so his name showed up in records in case people tried to track him down.  
“That’s a shame.” Gerard helped pull the Agent through the fence, even though he required no assistance. “There’s really a lot to be seen in the City. I’d hate the thought of never seeing all of it.”

As someone that had actually seen nearly all of it, the Agent scowled. “Don’t you think that you may be a little biased?”

Gerard recoiled at that statement, not expecting the biting edge to “Frank’s” tone. The man in red took in a deep breath before sighing it out, stepping away from his new companion to look down at a familiar rose bush. “You must understand—I’m not the person they paint me to be. I should have known better than to think you wouldn’t have your notions about me to start with, but I do have an awfully strong hopeful side. Still, I know the gossip and the rumors that go around this bleak place.” Turning away from the Agent, he knelt down to hold one of the rosebuds between his fingers, examining its crimson petals closely. 

With Gerard turned away, the opportunity rose for him to strike. The Agent took a few quiet steps closer, reaching to pull out the knife in his pocket. Usually, he would have preferred his ray gun, but they were too bulky for him to sneak into the dance undetected. The more antiquated weapon would suffice for the evening. Raising the black metal, he prepared to strike the man’s back.

“I know you’re not the person you seem, either, Frank. You’re not difficult to read.” 

The Agent took a step back, knife still at the ready. “What do you mean?”

“You’re lost, just like me.” Frank hid his knife away again as soon as he saw Gerard standing up and turning back around to peer at him. “I know how to spot the signs, Frank. You have a spot on your neck that you keep itching. That’s a symptom that you get when you lower your dosage on a very specific type of medication. I know this because I had the same thing when I went off the meds, but I noticed my friends also going off their medication did not have the same symptom. Why?”

The Agent narrowed his eyes, hand hovering over his concealed knife. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorted. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not trying to hurt you or convert you to whatever false religion they say I’m a part of. I knew what you were the second I saw the mark.” Gerard took a step closer to Frank. “That sore on your neck is a symptom of withdrawal from a certain suppressant tailored in meds for certain people. You know this where you work, surely? You must know what exactly they tried to suppress in you. Certain feelings we come born with.”

What Gerard was saying struck something far too personal in the Agent, causing him to lose control of his anger, something he’d never done on his higher dosage. “What the hell do you think you’re implying?” he growled, stomping towards the other and gripping hard at his shirt.

“I’m _implying_ that you were looking me up and down a lot tonight. I’m _implying_ that you’ve got tendencies. Don’t get aggressive with me, fire ball. I’m not here to turn you in to the authorities for going off your medication. In fact, I think it’s great you’re finally getting to see the world as it is. I’m proud of you.”

“You listen to me, you freethinking son of a bitch. I am not like that, and I am not here to buy any of your shit.” His hands began to shake in rage, grip on Gerard tightening to the point of discomfort for his small hand. “I am not like that, and don’t you ever dare try to speak like I am ever again. I will end you.”

“Awfully violent for a civilian suit, aren’t we?” Gerard sighed. “That’s just a general symptom of a lower dosage. You don’t have to be ashamed of what you are. What you are is normal, it’s natural. It happened all the time in people before they started rewiring who we are. Trust me, I ‘suffer’ from the same affliction. It’s okay, Frank. It’s okay to harbor those feelings for the ‘wrong’ types of people, and it’s okay not to listen to the misguided suits that try to tell you what way you should be.”

“I’m not some art-whore, queer rat like you,” the Agent spat out, but even he didn’t believe the words that came out of his mouth. It was all true that the teachers he had in secondary school sent out multiple reports of his strange actions towards his male classmates. Not that he didn’t feel the same way for his female classmates, but any sort of indication toward deviant behavior had to be targeted early on. When he was seventeen and caught kissing one of the other afflicted boys in his class—the one he’d previously been caught dancing with, they permanently worked in a suppressant into his medication. He found himself not feeling anything towards either sex, as if that whole part of himself had been forced to shut down. Until now, staring at this redhead half-wit that stirred up something dangerous. 

This could not go on any longer. The threat had to be executed.

“There’s a lot more you don’t know about me,” Frank threatened, letting go of Gerard but staying pressed close. 

Gerard smiled. “Really? You want to enlighten me, oh wise one?”

The Agent reached back into his pocket, pulling out the knife. 

The Red Man went pale. “You do want to enlighten me.”

Before he could force himself to act, Gerard bolted out from in front of him. He should have ran after him, should have thrown the knife with that masterful precision he’d trained for years. He should have tracked him down and cut off his pretty head, but instead Frank found himself glued to that spot beside the rose bushes where it had been so easy to kill before. The Red Man had gotten the better of his emotions, making him feel things he hadn’t felt in years, feelings he wished he could never feel again in his life. Instead of chasing the admitted criminal, he dropped down onto the ground where he swore he could still feel the body’s presence, tossing his knife to the side and reaching over toward the one of the flowers on the rosebush. 

*

For the next few days the Agent couldn’t sleep. He was a zombie walking around in his own skin, detached from his job and detached from the world around him. All he thought about was that man, that sinful and dubious man that he was supposed to kill. Everything he had said that night ignited something weakened inside of Frank, and every single day that part grew strong again, flooding his thoughts with terrible clarity. 

What had it been about this pathetic man? Was it just the uncontrollable reaction to being taken off the medication? Had the man somehow infiltrated his consciousness and planted in something subliminal, something that would torment him in this way? Was he truly just becoming infatuated with the Red Man and everything that he stood for?

Maybe it was all of those things, maybe it was none of them. Maybe he was becoming unfit to do his job and keep the City safe. Maybe it was all a phase that would soon pass by him. Maybe this assignment was a trial that he had failed. Maybe he was finally seeing the world how it really was and not as the fake utopia it had been painted to be. 

When he’d reported for duty the next day after the party, he had to give a full statement on his failure the night before. Whether he failed or succeeded (usually the latter), it was customary to have a meeting discussing the mission and its aftermath. Usually, it would a commanding officer or another official within the force who would conduct the meeting alone with the present agent. That day, however, he had to report to the Head as well as the rest of the Council.

With blank black eyes, she stared over Frank. The Agent had never actually seen their leader prior to that encounter, and despite being a rather petite woman, something about her just felt as if she could crush him with the flick of the wrist. Her voice, though soft and controlled, sent shivers down his spine, making him recoil and become sick to his stomach as she evenly scolded him for losing his opportunity to discretely get rid of the “red problem” in the City. It felt like hours that she listed to him all the negative consequences of his actions, how news would spread to the other Red Men and they would be prepared for any other attacks planned on them, how they might try to speak about the incident with other citizens uninvolved to turn them against the Council, how he was lucky they didn’t arrested him then and there for his failure. 

He would have to find another way to bring down the Red Man. He would have to follow him, stalk him, and find the best way of surprising him. Gerard Way had to die, and Frank had to kill him if he wanted to keep his job and continue to live as a free man. 

Frank had agreed to this task, had agreed to right his wrongs, and had agreed to do better. 

Frank had not, however, disclosed all the information that was required during the meeting. He had not told them about the Garden, or about the conversation the two had there, or about the fact that he did not try to even pursue his target when Gerard fled into the night. Never before had he so blatantly lied to a higher up as when he said he had nothing else to add. “He caught me just as I pulled out the weapon and ran. I tried to chase him, but he knows the layout of the City too well. Must have taken some hidden path I don’t know about. I’ve heard the Red Men constructed several secret passages within the City,” he’d said. Something in the Head’s dark eyes told him she hadn’t believed a single word that he said, but she didn’t press any further.

It was entirely on his shoulders to devise another plan to capture Gerard, but deep down he didn’t even think he wanted to. During the whole meeting, he prayed that she would re-assign the task to one of the others. Agent 2 would be happy to smash someone’s head in any day of the week. Agent 4 absolutely hated the Red Men and everything they stood for, often going on to rant for hours whenever they were mentioned in conversation. Even Agent 1 would be a better bet, even if they rarely used them. 

This was his job, though. Once given an assignment, it cannot be re-assigned.

As much as he wanted to run away and fight it somehow, he had no other choice. He kept taking his lowered medication, kept trying to push away the persistent thoughts, and began to search the City for any and all signs of the Red Man.

*

A couple weeks went by that the Agent planned his attack on the Red Man.

Much to his reluctance, he studied Gerard’s patterns from afar. Being in his profession, he had access to all the records the City had to offer. It only took one trip to the Company to hack into a computer and find out everything—age, height, weight, medical dosage, address, criminal record, work schedule, bank account number. Everything was available to him at just a few clicks of a button, and soon he realized that every camera was available to him with a few clicks of a button as well. Frank didn’t even need to be physically present to keep an eye on Gerard—the City’s heavy surveillance system did that for him. This realization, however, frightened Frank since it became apparent that this meant the other Agents as well as the Council had access to the Garden’s surveillance system. Possibly even the audio if there had been a camera close enough to them. No one had confronted him about the truth, though, leading him to believe maybe they hadn’t pursued his case any further.

The constant surveillance also distracted him from his growing insomnia. While he hated what he was doing, it worked well to get his mind off of all the dangerous thoughts that plagued him the first few days. Immersing himself in his work kept him busy 24/7, which was necessary at times like these.

The Agent could watch him all the way up until Gerard entered his apartment. There were cameras inside the halls of the building, but he didn’t have the ability to access anything inside the actual apartment. Not that Gerard seemed to spend much time there. Most of his nights were spent out in different buildings, meeting up with other Red Men in seedy spots. Frank couldn’t access the weak audio, though he was certain Gerard must have brought up his encounter with him at some point to his entourage. 

Gerard, even with his idiosyncrasies, had a pretty regular schedule. He would leave his house at 8:40 AM each morning, arriving at his division by 9:00 AM. He would work with other Red Men up until his lunch break at 12:00 PM, where he walked a few blocks down the street to eat a homemade lunch sitting at a bench in one of the parks he helped create. By 12:30 PM he’d be back at work a few more hours until 5:00 PM when he and the rest of his comrades left work. They would all take turns going to one and other’s houses, most likely to host dinner and chat about whatever rebellious, freethinking nonsense they desired. By 7:00 PM, Gerard was off taking a long stroll through the streets, visiting other spots he once worked on. Maybe he’d stop in a couple of shops before they closed up. Most nights he’d return to his apartment building by 10:00 PM after meeting up with his fellow reds, but a few night he would stay out until 12:00 AM curfew, just wandering around the City. These tended to be on the weekend nights in which he didn’t have work in the morning. If there was going to be a time for Frank to corner Gerard, these midnight strolls would be his best bet.

He spent the whole week up until Friday thinking about his plot. There was nothing too sophisticated about the plan. He would wait hidden on Gerard’s usually path late at night with his ray gun. His only goal was to aim and shoot, which sounded much easier in his head than it would be in real life. The voice inside the Agent’s head screamed about how terrible an idea this all was, so loud that even when he tried to self-medicate and double his dosage, it didn’t relent. None of the thoughts did.

It didn’t matter. He had to do this.

Friday came. 

The Agent spent the whole day waiting for night fall pacing around his apartment, contemplating some way out of this or some way to avoid it. If he failed again, he would become a wanted man. They would have all the taped evidence they needed to deem him an enemy of the City for not completing his assignment and killing the rebellious engineer. Still, the other possibility appeared just as terrible: killing this man that only meant well. This man that wanted to make good by the people, who seemed to read Frank like a book. The man that Frank could not get off his mind for one second. What gave him the right to kill? The more he thought about death and murder, the more guilt he began to feel for all those lives he had taken before. He didn’t know any of those people. All he knew was that they were supposed enemies of the Council.

What if the Council was wrong about their laws? What if the way they ran their City was wrong and Gerard was right?

This was the low medication speaking. After he completed this task, he would go back to the Head and beg her to re-up his dosage. He clearly could not handle the burden of clarity. Maybe if he did his job and then came to her asking for a resignation, to be sent to work as a suit in the Company, she would allow him to. No longer did he feel fit to be a mercenary for the government. 

The Agent had no choice. 

At 11:00 PM, he snuck off into the night. Darkness had fallen down over the City with half of the streetlights being turned down to conserve energy for the last hour before curfew. Nearly all the citizens were stowed away in their homes, either asleep or preparing themselves for sleep. Very few people dared to be out during this last hour of the day, even if curfew didn’t officially begin until midnight, because the risk of being caught even a minute past the deadline was too steep. People were locked away for years for breaking this law. In the five hours that the citizens were sentenced to their dwellings, the streets were completely bare and silent. 

Frank walked alone on most of the streets that he traveled in order to get to the City Hall, the home of the ruling Council. Most nights that Gerard went out to stroll around, he would pass this spot last on the way to his apartment since it was only a few blocks off from his residence. The building was one of the Red Men’s most regarded works. It had been designed and constructed long before Gerard had joined the wayward group of architects, but still he would admire its beautiful pillars and delicately designed exterior. Unlike most of the steel buildings in the City, the Hall was made entirely of marble and stone, reminiscent of architecture styles that had existed thousands of years prior to the Wars.

In the past, there had been beautiful murals painted on the sides and intricate carvings upon the pillars and surrounding the entrance, but the excessive displays of art had been demolished to give it a clean look. While beauty was important, expression could not be tolerated in the modern age. Beauty had to be destroyed to create perfection. 

With ample time still until Gerard’s usual visitation, the Agent found a hidden, shadowy spot behind one of the pillars beside the entrance. It was wedged in a corner, and with the Agent’s small stature, he would be impossible to spot if he remained in position, patient until the moment to strike. 

He waited. 

For the first time in so long, he felt as if his mind finally went blank. Screeching voices and blaring thoughts no longer scratched at the lobes of his brain. No more thoughts about morality or Gerard or the Garden or anything else that had been keeping him up at night. Tonight, there was radio silence in the Agent’s brain as he simply waited for the target to appear. It was no longer Gerard nor the Red Man, this person was simply the target, and the target had to be exterminated. 

And he waited.

He sensed his feet growing tired as nearly an hour passed by in concentration, but he didn’t let it phase him. Minor issues like that could be pushed aside with the rest of the contents of his logical mind. Everything in his world right now revolved around his mission.

And he waited.

Too much time was passing by before a sign of the target. The Agent began to have doubts that he would show up. Perhaps tonight he had gone back to his apartment early or ditched his typical route, despite passing by this location almost without fail for the whole time the Agent had been spying on him through the City’s surveillance system. As more time passed and his rage grew, he could feel his hands start to shake, still staring at the street. The Red Man must have found out somehow through some of his rebel sources. The Agent clenched his fists so hard they began to ache worse than his feet, vowing to himself that if that damned man didn’t show his face, he would break into the building and blast his head in, not caring what the neighbors would hear and see. He rather be condemned for completing his task than to not complete iy at all. This artistic, individualistic, irritating, raging homosexual insurgent had to be neutralized, no matter what the cost. 

Just as the Agent was about to give up, he finally caught a glimpse of red. 

Unlike the night at the Company party, the Red Man was not wearing exclusively his designated color: he wore black slacks and had a black leather jacket over a scarlet shirt. The only thing that gave him away in the dark was the bold ruby hair that sat on the top of his head. It looked even shaggier than before, more unkempt. 

The Agent withdrew his white ray gun, aiming it at the target. As Gerard strolled by, though, he could not get his hand to still so he could fire.

Much to his surprise, the Red Man stopped once he was in front of the Hall. Usually, he would stare at it for just a few moments before walking by, but tonight, he sat down on the steps of the great building, back to the Agent. It was the perfect opportunity to take him down. Even someone handling a ray gun for the first time in their life would have been able to make that simple of a shot. Moving out from behind the pillar, Frank silently descended a couple steps, as if being slightly closer could make up for how his hands continued to shake. Taking a deep breath, he took the shot.

The Agent missed.

The man that devoted years of his life to developing a skill in marksmanship, that had taken similar shots in a plethora of situations before, that had made it his duty and his prerogative to never miss, missed. A vicious ray of light blasted the surface of the concrete about five feet ahead of the Red Man. 

Gerard didn’t seem shocked or startled as he peered over his shoulder at the Agent, a sad smile painted on his pink lips. Standing up gradually, he turned around to face the would-be assassin. 

“Hello, Frank.”

“Stay back,” Frank growled, ray gun still aimed in Gerard’s direction, though his hand hadn’t stilled enough to actually look threatening.

Gerard ascended a few steps, ignoring his demand. “I think we both know that you’re not going to be shooting that,” he said. “If you really wanted me dead, you could have shot me there easily. You could have killed me the last time you had the chance.” He tilted his head, red locks falling onto his shoulder. “All I’m wondering is why you didn’t and why you don’t.”

Frank really wished he could give a reason. 

Gerard moved closer to the Agent until he stood directly in front of him. Even with his unstable aim, any shot taken at this distance would be sure to hit and kill the target, but still he could not bring himself to do it, even with all the mental rehearsal. 

“I know what you are—what you actually are,” the man in red continued. “You must be one of the City’s trained assassins. We always heard stories about you, but I never actually saw one of you—didn’t even believe you to be real, just a threat to keep us scared.” He reached out to place on of his pale hands on top of Frank’s, helping to still his shuddering. “I imagined big, devilish-looking brutes, not this. Especially right now—you look so scared.”

“They threatened to lock me up if I f-fail,” Frank stuttered, looking down at his gun, “but I know what they do to people. They hardly lock up anyone anymore. They’re going to k-kill me. I can’t do it. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t feel like myself lately with all these changes going on, and that night with you and—I just can’t think straight anymore. I can’t do this anymore, but I don’t want to die. I just want to get out of here.”

Closing his eyes, he lowered his gun. He never admitted any of that to himself, but blurting it all out now felt cathartic in a way. Hearing it out loud made him see that it was all true. He was no longer the manufactured mercenary he’d been for so many years. Maybe it was the lower dosage or maybe he’d finally just cracked, but the City didn’t feel like home anymore. 

Two warm arms wrapped around him only a few moments later. The Agent let go of his pride, of his purpose, and his inner turmoil to enjoy the only comfort he’d ever been given. Physical gestures weren’t permitted after a certain age until marriage assignments. Even then, those were to be kept private. Even with how foreign the gesture was, it still felt incredibly calming, like he was a child again being protected by his parent. 

“Neither of us can stay here,” Gerard murmured, pulling back as Frank opened his eyes. “I’m assuming I’m still a target to your group, and now they’ll come after you for your insubordination, but it’s okay. I’ve been expecting something like this for a while, and I have a plan.”

*  
Gerard’s plan included reconvening the next night in the same spot at the same time. It would only be a matter of time before someone would go through the surveillance and see what had occurred the night that Frank had secretly planned the assault, so there was no time to spare. Luckily for them both, it was the weekend and neither of them had any duties to attend to. Gerard had told his new companion to go home and bring with him anything of importance to their meeting. Wherever they were going that night, they wouldn’t be coming back.

Looking through the contents of his apartment, Frank discovered that he didn’t understand entirely what was meant by that. Nothing in his house had any sort of emotional attachment in his mind. All of it was work gear, necessities, and simple luxuries that wouldn’t be much use to him out in the wild. Grabbing a white duffel bag, he loaded it with a couple pairs of clothes and as much canned food as he had in his apartment. Lucky for him, most food nowadays was canned and filled with numerous preservatives. If he rationed carefully, he could make it all last for about a month if he only had his mouth to feed. Hopefully, whatever plan Gerard had developed included renewable food sources as well as water, since one bottle full would hardly last him over a night. In between the heavy supply of food and clothing, he managed to wedge some of his work gear—a few knives and his long-trusted ray gun. Wherever he was going, he was sure he’d need it.

Once he finally finished placing in different supplies that could be useful, the duffel bag barely closed. It was far heavier than Frank was comfortable carrying, but he would have to put up with it at this point. He had no more time left to waste. He knew the best paths at this time to dodge the aggressive midnight patrols, so he had to move fast so that he did not lose his window of opportunity to get to the meet-up spot. Frank just hoped the bag was sturdy enough not to break during the trip. 

He returned to the front of the Hall in one piece. Hidden in the same shadows that he’d been in the night before was Gerard, yielding a bag twice the size of Frank’s. Who knew what kind of strange trinkets the Red Man would be bringing with him out into the zones. Stepping out from the shadows, he advanced toward the man that had been hunting him just a day before, giving him another embrace. Frank didn’t know if this was something popular with queer outcasts or if this was something exclusive to Gerard. Either way, it was oddly pleasant.

“There’s a secret tunnel that can get us out of the City only a couple blocks from here. On the other side, just a couple miles north of the City is a bunker that used to belong to my—to someone I knew. It should be vacant.”

Frank nodded slowly, biting his lip.

“Are you sure you want to do this? You seem nervous again.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Frank answered. “I don’t have much of a choice. It’s just a lot to handle.”

Gerard leaned in again. Frank braced himself for another one of the taller man’s hugs, but instead felt Gerard’s lips press against his in an even more peculiar gesture. It was a strange feeling at first, but it only took a couple seconds to ease into it and return the kiss. Nothing before had ever felt so satisfying.

“You’re going to be okay.”

Looking up at Gerard, the man that had once been Agent 3 believed him.


End file.
